


a girl called henrietta

by 100hearteyes



Series: love is not always what you think it’ll be [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 13 Days of Clexa, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F, clextober18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 09:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16405793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes
Summary: Clarke has two fundamental flaws that Lexa has been having trouble getting past. One is that she's very secretive. The other is that she hates Harry Potter.Clarke hates both the books and the movies with a passion, to the point where she can't even look at them without going on a tangent about how bad and 'derivative' they are. And it's all rather confusing, really, because Lexa doesn't even know exactly why Clarke hates those books so much.She's about to find out.Story for Clextober18, October 25th — "This Witch".





	a girl called henrietta

**Author's Note:**

> One could argue that Lexa is too lenient, but I didn't want to make this angsty. I just hope you enjoy reading this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's been on my mind for the past two years but I never had the chance or the time to write it before.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lexa has the perfect girlfriend. Not because Clarke is perfect — no one is — but because they're perfect for each other.

They both enjoy lazy nights in, sipping tea in the balcony while stargazing, playing chess, watching pseudo-intellectual movies, and documentaries. Both hate reality shows, seafood, crowded touristy places, people who fart on the train, and overpriced establishments. On the other hand, they balance each other out in some crucial aspects. Lexa drags Clarke to the gym, while Clarke drags her to the doctor; Clarke is more spontaneous, while Lexa is a bit of a stickler for the rules; Clarke forces Lexa to watch romcoms, while she forces Clarke to watch war movies; she takes her coffee black, while Clarke takes it with too much sugar; Lexa prefers the burger, while Clarke prefers the chips; Clarke loves cooking, Lexa loves cleaning; Lexa is logical, while Clarke is creative; Lexa is a bit too rational, while Clarke is a bit too emotional. They're perfect for each other.

Except for one thing. Well, two. Clarke has two fundamental flaws that Lexa has been having trouble getting past. One is that Clarke is quite secretive, as though she's constantly up to something. The other is that she hates Harry Potter.

Yes, you read it right.

 _Clarke_ hates Harry Potter.

Clarke _hates_ Harry Potter.

Clarke hates _Harry Potter._

And Lexa loves Harry Potter.

Clarke hates both the books and the movies with a passion, to the point where she can't even look at them without going on a tangent about how bad and 'derivative' they are. It baffles Lexa. There is no use in telling Clarke that they are almost unprecedentedly creative — "Right. _Creative_ ," Clarke will say. The blonde loves calling JK Rowling a fraud for whatever reason (Lexa's heart hurts every time she hears it). And she's nowhere closer to convincing Clarke that the HP books are a work of art every time she argues that such a detailed, all-encompassing universe like the one portrayed in the books can only be the creation of a genius. All Clarke does is scoff when she hears that.

And it's all rather confusing, really, because Lexa doesn't even know exactly _why_ Clarke hates those books so much.

Unbeknownst to her, she's about to find out.

 

\---

 

Clarke owns a small, quaint flower shop just off downtown. Its privileged location means that it's not swarming with tourists, but is still central enough that it is the main shopping spot for flower lovers. That's how Lexa found it — and Clarke — in the first place.

However, Clarke has the strangest clientele. Some walk in like they own the shop, draped in billowing capes and barely sparing a glance everyone else except Clarke. Others come in wearing silly glasses or other apparel that looks distinctly out of place — one man was even wearing a tailcoat over a bathing suit, once — and they marvel at everyone and everything around them. She has even seen the odd person wearing a pointy hat, just like a witch or a wizard would. What every single weird-looking person that enters Clarke's shop has in common, however, is the fact that they all head to a specific corner of the shop and stand there admiring the potted flants as though they're doing magic tricks. Lexa has examined those flowers more than once and has found nothing that would warrant such attentive, wonderstruck staring — or the hefty amount of money those people pay for them.

Today, Lexa has great news and the first person she thinks of to tell is Clarke. Lexa has just learned that she passed the her final exam with flying colors, which means that she can finally, finally practice as a lawyer, as she has dreamed for practically her entire life. She knows that Clarke is working, so she runs all the way from the apartment they share to her girlfriend's shop. 

The shop is deserted, which means that Clarke is out back. Lexa rounds the counter and trudges to the the back of the shop, where Clarke has a storage room, a small kitchen for when she needs to cook herself a meal, and a changing room. Clarke always thinks of everything.

Clarke's black cat, Griselda, comes up to meet her and Lexa has just lowered herself to pick it up when she notices a fourth door. _Strange_ , she thinks as she places the cat back on the floor in slow motion, eyebrows knit together. She never noticed that door before. Was it ever even there?

Lexa approaches with slow steps despite Griselda's sudden, insistent pawing at her legs as though trying to pull her back. Somehow the cat jumps into her arms and makes a fuss, but she puts it back on the ground. "Not now, Griselda."

Lexa holds the doorknob, feels the cold metal against her palm. She has a weird feeling about this, although she can't explain it. With a flex of her fingers, she turns the knob and opens the door — and her jaw falls to the floor.

Clarke has her back to the door and her arms are spread wide and up, a wooden wand in one of her hands waving around with a pulsing light on its tip. But that's not even the most shocking sight of all. In front of Clarke several flower pots fly around, travelling from one corner of the room to the other and tucking themselves into shelves that grow in length each time to accommodate a new plant. Moving pictures line the walls and an elf is sat on a stool at a small table, playing against Clarke a game of what Lexa can only describe as wizard's chess.

"Clarke?"

Lexa is surprised to find out that the words came from her own mouth. Clarke spins abruptly around and all the vases that were floating fall to the floor in a cacophony of sounds. The elf gasps and disappears just a second later, and Griselda screeches its way into the room running straight into Clarke's legs and collapsing on the floor. Clarke looks around at all the broken vases and suddenly-still pictures, then at the overturned chess board and at the cat, and finally her eyes lock with Lexa's.

"Fuck."

 

\---

 

Lexa has gone through several stages of shock in the past five hours.

The numb lethargy that befell her as she spun on her heels and left the no-longer-secret room was replaced by a series of 'no no nos' when she reached the front of the shop. She remembers sitting down because she felt herself about to faint — next thing she knows, she is waking up in her own bed, having magically (possibly literally) transported back to her house. The thought haunts her. She went through the 'don't touch me phase' when Clarke tried to take her hand, then tried to eat a whole pint of her favorite ice cream to calm her nerves, and even banged her head into the wall to make sure that this wasn't a dream.

It isn't. Clarke is a witch. A witch whose world looks an awful lot like Harry Potter's.

It was upon realising that, that Lexa finally calmed down. She aided the improvement by taking a long shower and putting on the most comfortable clothes she owns. And now, she's standing by the dinner table, at which Clarke is sat, trying to formulate the hundred thousand questions that plague her mind.

"You are a witch. Or is there a definition your kind is more fond of?"

"I am a witch," Clarke confirms, obvious in her caution. "And you are a muggle."

Confusion takes over Lexa once again, and she can't help the way she frowns and her mouth opens and closes with a strangled noise. "No, but that's not– that's— that's Harry Potter."

She doesn't miss the way that Clarke's eyes roll. "No. That's us. JK Rowling just pretended that it was all her creation. She's a fraud."

"Clarke, that's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Clarke questions, raising her eyebrows in challenge. "She had privileged access to the wizarding world through her ex-husband and decided to make money off it by turning us into a big, fat joke. JK Rowling is basically magical enemy number one."

"What? She made you famous, Clarke."

"She ridiculed us," exclaims Clarke, jumping from her chair. "She made everything cooler than we actually are. And she exposed us, put us all in danger! Did you know that we can't use platform 9 ¾ anymore now because it's got a permanent line the size of five basilisks of tourists waiting to smash themselves into a wall?"

Lexa did not know that. "That is... Inconvenient."

"Inconvenient? Lexa, we had to change our entire mailing system because we can't use owls anymore. Not to mention that Hogwarts is protected by an invisibility spell now because we can't risk it being found by tourists. We had to change our main shopping spot in London from Charing Cross to Regent Street because we couldn't be seen entering Diagon Alley anymore, and now it's called Horizont Alley!"

Lexa sits down, the information too much and much too overwhelming for her brain to process. Everything she thought was fiction is, after all, very much real. It's like finding out that what you've known your whole life is a lie, only the other way around.

"Oh and we don't appreciate the way she depicted us in the books," Clarke adds, to Lexa's exasperation.

"What is wrong with that? She made you the heroes."

"She made us racist and xenophobic. No one in real life has used the m-word in decades, but everybody says it in the books at one point or another. Purebloods — and that's an awful way to define them — could care less about their status. They marry 'half-bloods' like myself, or even muggles, all the time. And speaking of muggles, wizards have no problem with them whatsoever. I should know; I'm dating one, for Merlin's sake."

Clarke seems to realise what she just said and looks sheepish all of a sudden. She sits back down, facing Lexa but careful to keep a distance. "I mean..." Clarke tries to take Lexa's hand, but the muggle — and oh, how weird it is to define herself in that way — slips away at the last moment. She's not impervious to the hurt in Clarke's eyes. "I hope I am still dating one."

Lexa looks down at their hands and worries her lower lip between her teeth. She sighs. "I just... Why would you keep all this from me?"

"I was going to tell you," Clarke says with a pleading look. "I was. I was just waiting for the right moment."

Lexa crosses her arms. "You waited three years for the right moment? And still, you weren't going to tell me. I had to find out for myself. When were you going to tell me? When we were ten years into our marriage and on our way to the third kid?"

Clarke's lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smirk. "You wanna marry me one day?"

"Clarke, this is really not the time."

The witch has the decency to look properly chastised. "I'm sorry, Lexa. I really am. But it's hard. I was afraid that... you wouldn't want me anymore. That you would think I'm a freak or that you would be afraid of me."

Lexa's heart breaks at seeing Clarke so unsure, so afraid. Yet there is also a pang of hurt at realising that Clarke thought that she could ever stop loving her for being a wizard. She feels her arms unfurl and her hands rest on her thighs.

"Clarke, you know I adore Harry Potter. How could I ever react badly to you being an actual, real-life witch?"

"Finding something cool in fiction doesn't equal finding it cool in real life. I mean, werewolves are cool, but would you like to actually meet one?"

Lexa can't help the automatic way that her hands take Clarke's between them. Regardless of whatever doubts plague her mind right now, there is something she needs her girlfriend to be one-hundred percent sure of.

"I love you, Clarke. I love you very, very much. And it takes a lot more than," she struggles to find the words, "chess-playing house-elves and... flying flower pots to push me away."

"I love you too," Clarke says, and her hands tighten their hold on Lexa's. "And that's exactly why I was afraid. But that's not enough of a reason to keep a secret for three years. I am so sorry, Lexa. I'm really, really sorry."

Lexa stays silent for a while. She could and she should stay mad for longer, but the truth is... What good would it do? Clarke is genuinely sorry and she's certain that she can trust the witch wholly in spite of the three years of omission. Besides, she can make Clarke work for her trust gradually. The truth is that Lexa would suffer a lot more by keeping Clarke at arm's length. Not to mention that she wouldn't be able to satisfy her endless curiosity.

Finally she sighs and brushes a thumb across Clarke's knuckles to get her attention. Blue eyes find hers with a mixture of hope and cautious anxiety.

"You broke my trust, Clarke. And that will not go away so easily, even if I am confident that I can still trust you. However, I do not want this to ever keep us from being together." Lexa knows that she's made the right decision when Clarke's lips start curling up into a beautiful smile. "I will know that I can trust you again if you tell me everything, answer my every question about your magic and your world." Clarke is already nodding before she can finish. "Let me in without reservations and I will let you back in too."

Clarke throws her arms around Lexa and hugs her like it's the first time. Lexa smiles, endlessly infatuated, and wraps her own arms around Clarke's middle. They stay like that until Clarke pulls away with a kiss to her cheek and a 'thank you, thank you, thank you'. There is a glimmer of excitement in those striking blue eyes when they lock with Lexa's again.

"So, what's your first question?"

"Does Flourish and Blotts actually exist?"

 

\---

 

Clarke takes her to an open, green field that day, many miles away from London. It's just them, the car, and no one else around, and the view is breathtakingly beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Clarke.

When Clarke opens the trunk of the car and takes out a broom, stopping to strap an extra bipod to the stick, Lexa's heart almost leaps out of her chest.

"This," Clarke says, holding up the broom, "is a broomstick, also called a broom. As you know. And I'm taking you on a ride on it, babe."

Clarke mounts the broom and tells Lexa to position herself in front of her. Moments later, they're pushing off the ground and floating up in the air, and Lexa feels pure exhilaration run through her veins at the multitude of feeling that wash over her in that moment: she looks down at the land below and feels bigger than she has ever felt; she stares around them at the clouds and the endless, blue sky, and realizes how small she really is; she feels Clarke's arms around her, guiding the broom with expertise, and their cheeks pressed together and stretched by wonderstruck grins, and remembers that this is the kind of happiness that Clarke makes her feel every day, with or without magic.

"You were excited about something today," Clarke says, breaking Lexa from her thoughts. "What was it?"

The realization that Clarke cares about her news amidst such grand discoveries is yet another reminder of why Lexa loves the girl so much. "I passed my final exam. With honors."

"Really?!" Clarke yells, just as ecstatic as Lexa. The next thing Lexa knows, they are looping through the air, twirling and soaring and laughing into the open sky. Clarke's arms tighten around her body. "I knew you could do it, Lexa. I'm so proud of you."

Lexa chances turning ever so slightly to give Clarke a small kiss on the lips. "Thank you, Clarke." She lets the pause grow and deflate with the gentleness of the breeze. "Now, my next question. Are there really four houses in Hogwarts?"

"Yes. But their founders are all women. Samara Slytherin, Griselda Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. And the professors are all different from the books. Except for McGonagall. That woman is so exceptional that even Just Kidding Rowling couldn't keep her out of the books."

"What's your house?"

"Gryffindor, obviously. And I didn't need a stupid Pottermore test to tell me that."

"I presumed, since you named your cat after its founder," Lexa smirks. "Is there an actual Sorting Hat?"

"Oh yeah. And he's an even bigger pain in the arse. He loves dragging the sorting until all hours of the night."

"Favorite quidditch team?"

"London Lions obviously. They're the best. Forget the names that Rowling made up. They're shite."

"Dumbledore?"

"Doesn't exist."

"Voldemort?"

Clarke snorts. "Please. He would've never stood a chance."

"Aurors?"

"There are some, but they're rare. The wizarding world hasn't had a war in ages so there aren't many dark wizards to begin with."

"Ministry of Magic?"

"That one does exist. But political crises are few and far between."

"Are there actual Metamorphmagi?"

"Yep. Raven is one, actually. She transforms into a raven. Original, I know," Clarke adds with a smirk.

"Wait, Raven is a witch too?"

She feels Clarke grimace apologetically behind her. "And Octavia. Sorry."

Lexa would pinch the bridge of her nose if she weren't too afraid of letting go of the tight grip she has on the broomstick. "I'll get past it. Anyway. Is Wingardium Leviosa an actual spell?"

"Yes. All the charms and curses featured in books are real. Prophecies are real, too."

Before Lexa can ask anything else, Clarke pulls out a big camera from a small ouch and holds it up in front of them. "Smile!"

The flash goes off and the camera spits out (quite literally) a moving picture the two of them with dopey smiles on their faces.

"Take it. Your first magical picture."

Lexa takes the proffered photo gingerly and tucks it in the inside pocket of her jacket, knowing that it won't crumple or scratch in there, since it's not next to the other thing she's keeping in her pockets. "Thank you, Clarke. Did you have good grades on your O.W.L.s.? If they are an actual thing, that is."

"Not really. Those were... Complicated times. My dad had just died."

"I'm sorry, Clarke."

"It's okay," the witch says, kissing her cheek. "You can keep asking questions if you want."

"Favorite potion?"

"Polyjuice, obviously. It was hard to make but the end result was brilliant. Raven, Octavia, and I used it to pull a prank on McGonagall once."

Lexa gasps and turns to Clarke in alarm, completely forgetting that she's terrified of releasing her hands from the broom. "How did you survive that?"

Clarke laughs heartily and grabs her hands, returning them to the broomstick. "Okay first of all, hands on the broom at all times." Lexa mutters an apology and tightens her grasp on the apparatus. "Second of all," Clarke drawls smugly, and Lexa can hear the smirk in her voice. "She never found out that it was us."

"Evil."

"I know."

"Wow. I'm still reeling on the fact that you pulled a prank on Minerva bloody McGonagall and got away with it."

"Process it for however long you need, babe. It happened and it was glorious."

"I also can't believe that JK Rowling took every single thing from your world and made it look like it was all her imagination," Lexa admits, finally catching up with the wizarding world's frustrations.

"She's a thief. And then she added the stupidest details, like that bloody train station from heaven where Harry meets Dumbledore after he's killed by Voldemort. And don't get me started on the Horcruxes. What a lame thing to come up with. It doesn't even make sense."

"You actually read all the books just to be able to criticize them," Lexa realizes.

"Of course. My opinions are never unfounded."

 _Beg to differ_ , Lexa thinks with a smirk, but decides to move on. "So the whole book plot never happened?"

"Not at all."

 

\---

 

Much later, they're lying on a checkered towel with a blanket over them, eating Jelly Slugs and Cauldron Cakes under a starry night. Clarke has lit a lantern and put a charm on it to keep all insects at bay. All in all, it's the perfect date.

Lexa kisses Clarke and goes to take another bite of her Cauldron Cake. Just before she can close her teeth around it, however, it levitates out of her hand and she bites on air. Clarke chortles, too satisfied with herself, keeping the cake afloat with a flourish of her wand.

"This is Wingardium Leviosa. Since you you were so curious about it," Clarke says cheekily.

Lexa snatches the cake and stuffs it in her mouth before it can fly away from her again. "Your mum never taught you not to play with your food?" she asks with her mouth full.

"She did... But this is just too much fun. Accio cake," Clarke whispers, and another Cauldron Cake comes floating into her hand. "For you." She offers it to Lexa, who rolls her eyes.

"Charmer. What's your wand made of?"

"It's made of holly and possesses a phoenix feather core."

Lexa's eyes widen. "That's just like Harry Potter."

"Yes," Clarke says with a roll of her eyes. "Just like him. Lucky me. I was bullied for it at some point." Lexa's shocked expression elicits further explanation. "Believe it or not, 'Harry Potter' is one of the most scathing insults you can throw at someone in the wizarding world."

"What's the worst one?"

Clarke's nose wrinkles in disgust. "JK Rowling."

The answer tears a laugh from Lexa's lips, and soon she hears Clarke join her. They laugh for a while, lost in time and willing slaves of the moment. Life has never felt so good.

"What was the name of the elf you were playing chess with?" Lexa asks after long moments.

"Barnaby. You'll like him, he's a good fellow."

Lexa can't resist stealing a kiss. "I'm sure I will. Are all those weird clients you have witches and wizards?"

"Yes. And they come for this." Clarke sits up and searches her bag. She releases a 'aha!' seconds later and pulls out a potted plant, before offering to Lexa. "I won't have to hide their magic from you anymore."

Lexa frowns, but her confusion turns to wonder when she takes the plant in. It is mostly green, with small thorns and delicate leaves that extend past the circular border of the vase. On top sits a rose, red with delicate pink rays, with outer petals shaped almost like a heart, and inner ones shaped like a mouth.

"Sing."

At Clarke's order, the rose starts singing "La Vie En Rose" in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Edith Piaf's. Fascinated, Lexa returns her gaze to Clarke's with a question.

Clarke smiles and lays back down beside her, placing the plant just to the side. "It sings whatever you played for her last. In this case, it's your favorite song."

"You sell this in your shop?"

"This one and others with different purposes, but that corner is full of magical plants," Clarke explains. "And I intend to show you each one of them."

Lexa crashes their lips together, unable to express the immense love she feels flooding her in words. Clarke is enthusiastic in her response, and the pair lose themselves in each other for another few, long minutes.

"Patronuses," Lexa whispers as her lips leave Clarke's, although their foreheads remain connected. "Do they exist?"

Instead of answering her question, Clarke poses one of her own. "Remember when I got you that toy that seemingly randomly guessed your spirit animal? And we laughed because it was so strangely accurate?" Lexa nods, suspecting where this is going. "Do you remember what yours was?"

"The wolf."

Clarke extends her arm and points her wand forward and up. "Expecto Patronum."

The tip of Clarke's wand shines brightly and sends forward a burst of white light that soon takes the form of a beautiful, elegant wolf. Lexa feels her heart stop in her chest, fully aware of the significance of what she's seeing.

"It used to be a lion." Clarke locks gazes with her and steals her attention like always. Looking into those deep, blue eyes is never less surreal than the time before. "I'd said 'I love you' before, but that was the day I knew without a doubt that I wanted to build a life with you. This has been my patronus ever since."

The way both move for a kiss at the same time is natural and borne from a place of total understanding, even more so now that no secrets stand between them. The kiss itself is deep but languid, for they know that they have all the time in the world to explore, remap, and draw new lines of pleasure within the borders of their lips.

Lexa's lips become a little more half-hearted in their efforts when she takes the distraction to reach for her pocket and grab the small object she's been holding onto for over a month. She finishes the kiss with a series of small pecks and rests their foreheads together. Breathing in Clarke's very breath gives her the confidence to follow through. "Clarke, can you please use Lumos?"

Clarke doesn't respond, just whispers 'Lumos' into the air between their lips and suddenly her wand is illuminating them under the starry night sky, background to the flower's soft reproduction of Edith Piaf's voice.

Lexa separates their foreheads with another peck on Clarke's lips, just enough to snake her hand between them and show Clarke the ring. The witch's eyes widen impossibly.

"Clarke," she starts softly, barely over a whisper. "There is nothing I can say, no incantations I can recreate to express how much I love you and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And now that I know that you feel the same way, all I can do ask: will you marry me?"

Clarke nods, lets out a wet laugh, throws her arms around Lexa's neck knocking her backwards on the grass. Lexa laughs too and rolls them around so she's half on top and looking down at Clarke with what she knows are the greatest heart eyes she has ever mustered. Her hair falls over one side, shielding them from light, music, and magic. It's just the two of them, with the moonlight defining Clarke's features just so and the big, lovesick smiles on their faces.

"Is that a yes?"

Clarke nods and grabs the back of Lexa's neck, pulling her closer so their lips touch when she says, "Yes."

 

\---

 

"So Harry Potter himself isn't even real?"

"Nope. But he _was_ based on a girl called Henrietta."

 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Btw I am NOT accusing JK Rowling of plagiarism. It's just for the sake of the story xD


End file.
